Tuesday, April 22, 2014

You Silly Goose

I
wake up sore. No surprise there. Not after a full day of shoveling snow off the
roof. I tumble out of bed and head downstairs. It’s already 45 degrees at 9:00
AM.

There’s
a grey-lit, dusky cloud sliding over the east mountains. Eyeing it, I take my
coffee and book and go sit outside in the sun. The cat joins me. The wildlife
is displaying temerity. For example, the cat jumps in my lap. “Uh, no, Cat,” I tell
her, disengaging her kneading claws out of my jeans and gently encouraging her
to jump back down. “We’re not getting that
friendly.” I scratch her behind the ears and she eventually plops down under my
chair like a companionable dog.

Later,
as another example, when I’m back inside a spider jumps down my shirt. We both
survive the experience and I relocate the spider to the great outdoors.

There’s
precipitation—tiny pieces of ice, not quite hail, not quite snow. The
temperature drops ten degrees and it begins to snow in earnest. I start my
morning fire at 11:30.

“How’s
the isolation?” my grandmother asks each time she calls. Without the cat and
the geese this place would feel much more isolated.

In
the evening, I see the beaver again, by chance, through a window as I pass. It
reminds me of Rat and Mole and I think it’ll soon be time to read The Wind in
the Willows again. Maybe that’s the promise of spring. Or I’m just confusing
that the book begins with spring.

The
snow fell for three hours and is already gone. Who needs a coat when it’s 40
degrees outside?

Caretaker’s
Log, Saturday, April 19, 2014

I
find some heavy whipping cream in the back of the refrigerator. It expired on the
10th. So I open it and dump it in my coffee. This is the first
awesome cup of coffee I’ve had since I got here. Who knows how long the cream
will last. I’ll have to drink it up quickly.

I
see a chipmunk on the woodpile.

My
grandmother calls.

Although
I’m feeling lazy and wanting to procrastinate, I gear up and go outside to chop
wood. I’m down to about a day’s supply. I chop for four hours. It’s not so bad
once I get started. I split wood until I’m out of strength. If the weather
keeps getting warmer, this supply will last me much longer than a week.

I
see the beaver swimming about.

Now
that the spiders are waking up I’ve started shaking my boots out before putting
them on. I learned that from reading Louis L’Amour and from staying out at my
grandparents’ farm in East Texas where there was real chance scorpions would be
in one’s shoes.

A
robin redbreast flies up on the porch as I’m finishing up my dinner. The
harbinger of spring has arrived. I hope it eats the giant mosquito-like creature
I just saw.

There
go the ducks.

Caretaker’s
Log, Sunday, April 20, 2014

Coffee
laced with heavy whipping cream is splendid. I’ll enjoy it while it lasts.

I’m
not as hurt or sore as I thought I’d be from chopping. Maybe that’ll come
tomorrow.

A
goose was one-legging it at the beaver’s water descent area this morning. I had
to get the binoculars to see what creature was there. At first sight, I thought
there were two beavers, but it was only one silly goose and a rock.

I
water the plants.

There
are things being revealed out from under the snow. For instance, a bright
orange fishing hat and a pair of scissors on the propane shed’s roof.

Yesterday
and the day before I heard the sound of melting snow, a fizzing, a cricket’s
song, like something living taking air, or something dying giving up its last
breath.

There’s
a chipmunk playing statue in the front yard snow. It’s frozen on account of me.
I’m moving too much as I sit in the sun and fend off the flies from my place
here on the porch. The cat abandons me after I go warm up my coffee.

I
want to do nothing today. The question is: where to do it exactly.

Late
in the afternoon, following the sun, I go sit on the log outside of the sauna room.
A kingfisher with a black plume crown trills at me from the fence by the river.
A swarm of white-bellied birds, nuthatches maybe, flit overhead. One dips its
beak into the water as it flies by. The river sings around a rock, a bend.

The
beaver is out. While I’m watching him slowly munch on a reed I see a second
beaver! His reed eaten up, the first beaver swims right past me.

I
hear an owl.

The
hydro-electric battery float charge is 49.8 when I check it at 7:30. That’s the
lowest I’ve ever seen it. While I’m checking the caretaker’s manual to remind
myself what the dangerous low is, my brother Phinehas calls. He distracts me
with funny stories.

But
the low float charge worries me. I find the range in the manual. It’s not
supposed to go over 64.2 volts or under 46.8. The volts are currently within
the acceptable range. I hope it doesn’t go lower tonight while I’m sleeping. I’m
not exactly sure what will happen if it does. I just know that I’ll have to fix
it.

Now
my hands are sore.

I
calculate the remaining weeks, my wine supply, and worry about the upcoming Kinky
Creek spring flooding. Then I chide myself. Don’t worry about things that won’t
happen in the dark of night. Be calm. Enjoy the fire. Enjoy the music. Enjoy
the night.

I
finish the last Tecumseh Fox book by Rex Stout. I’ve read all three in the
series in less than three days.